Female musicians strive to keep the scene safe

It started shortly after Vanja James turned 21. She had just released her first record and was meeting with a producer at a bar when she excused herself to use the restroom.

“Before I could close the door, this guy rushed in, pinned me to the wall and started to make out with me,” she says. “He was so fast, I had no time to think. None.”

Harrowing encounters of sexual assault like this are by no means unique to the music business, but James says the music industry is still 20 to 30 years behind the rest. And San Diego’s scene isn’t an exception.

“It’s almost like in rock music, it’s expected for men to harass women,” says James.

Making matters worse, speaking out against instances of assault can potentially jeopardize women’s career opportunities. Take, for example, a recent experience James faced at The Casbah. A well-known musician approached her, flirted aggressively and didn’t retreat when she told him she was uncomfortable. James detailed the incident in a Facebook video and was faced with backlash (she later took the post down). She says the artist threatened to sue her for slander, even though he admitted he had acted inappropriately. He claimed he was inebriated, but that didn’t stop others from calling James a liar. Several musicians associated with the artist questioned whether they could work with her in the future.

“If nobody is willing to back me up or believe that it’s the truth because of this person’s position in the industry, that’s terrible,” she says. “Something needs to change.”

James says perpetrators are typically big-name artists, as was the case in this situation, or people in positions of power. Lex Pratt, who’s played in local bands such as Mermaid, The Very and Soft Lions, agrees.

“They hide in the corner, and they’re protected and they’re the cool ones,” Pratt says. “They’re the ones either in charge or in the best bands, the most credible bands here. No one will talk about them being terrible to women in their personal lives at the venue with other people watching.”

Business relations can overshadow safety, leaving women to take it upon themselves to avoid certain venues and shows. To ward off advancements, James will sometimes wear a faux engagement ring or post photos with someone to look as if she’s in a relationship. Given the recent high-profile cases of harassment and assault, she knows she’s not alone in trying to figure what can be done.

“A lot of people are speaking out right now, but nobody is really looking at solutions,” James says.

Unlike in corporate America, there’s no obvious or direct route to report inappropriate behavior in the music industry.

“The HR [solution] is to grin and bear it if you want to make it,” says Pratt. ”You have to deal with the lewd comments and the sexism and the jokes, and just let it roll off your back. But how long can you do that before it crosses the line of abusive and harmful?”

A venue’s stance can have a profound impact on the safety of performing artists and attendees alike. The Belly Up Tavern recently allowed James to reschedule a show after she informed the venue that the musician she was supposed to perform with had targeted her with hate speech after she rejected his advances. Pratt notes that Soda Bar has treated her fairly, and both women agree The Casbah is vigilant as well.

“The problem is that clubs do take it very seriously, but women don’t know that,” James says.

Ben Johnson, a part-owner and bartender at The Casbah, says the staff has an overall understanding that if a woman says there’s a problem, it needs to be addressed immediately. He’s also on the lookout for potentially escalating situations, but identifying them is sometimes a challenge.

“People hit on each other at nightclubs, that’s an inherent thing,” says Johnson. “That’s kind of one of the byproducts of working at a club; people hook up. Discerning when people are just hooking up and when it’s a sketchy situation is all up to personal interpretation.”

On all occasions, he says he defers to the woman. Over the years it has led him to kick out patrons, as well as fire employees on the spot for inappropriate behavior.

“Let’s be honest, everyone knows what’s appropriate and what’s not,” says Johnson. “People just choose to go over that line. Does anybody really need training? Just don’t be a fucking asshole. That’s the training, ultimately.”

James does believe that training could draw hard lines in the sand. She’s preparing training sessions geared toward industry professionals she’s hoping could begin in 2018. Johnson says he’s interested in lending The Casbah’s space for the sessions, and feels particularly strongly about female-led training.

“It would be nice if there was a set curriculum to teach, rather than everybody’s personal interpretations,” Johnson says. “And that should be put forth by women, instead of men with well-meaning intentions for women.”

Aside from training, James suggests clubs post signs that emphasize that it’s a harassment-free space. Another proposed solution is providing a phone number in the women’s bathroom for reporting uncomfortable situations. A third is requiring performers to sign an agreement noting the venue’s zero-tolerance harassment policy, and that a breach would result in being banned.

“You can be a rockstar on stage and be dirty and be edgy and be raw, and that’s your stage persona,” says James. “That doesn’t have to be you off the stage. There’s no law that says you have to always be a slimebag.”

Pratt echoes that sentiment. “It’s not just about being on stage, it’s about being in life.”